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  • Vanilla bean yogurt
    on tax day
    with coffee warmed up
    in the microwave
    sitting on the dry part
    of the concrete back door steps
    watching Olivia
    survey the new green grass
    of her yard
    watching the wrens
    flitting back and forth
    to the seed cake and the suet
    new buds on the trees
    new year in the air
    I always thought
    the new year should begin with spring
    no April fooled but April renewed
    long sleeve shirt
    pushed halfway up my arms
    sweat pants and gyms shoes,
    oh, athletic shoes, I forgot, my bad,
    about to read
    Pastoral by Carl Phillips
    the library as always bears
    fresh fruit to nourish
    and now the rain returns
    splatter off the eaves
    onto the pages of my journal
    lightly, miniature drops
    of cleansing clouds
    tingling on my skin
    Olivia returns to the cover
    of the porch while
    I remain seated
    scribbling words
    and painting pictures
    in these closely lined
    pages, listening
    to the sounds
    of wrens and jays and cardinals
    objecting, I suppose,
    to nature's interruption
    of their daily ministrations
    while in the distance
    sounds of man
    sirens, traffic, steam
    and whirl of … something
    approaching helicopter
    bound for only God knows where
    God, that is, and the pilots
    and perhaps the passengers,
    while I suppose the cargo
    simply rests in holds
    and now
    the rain is gone
    Olivia resumes her ramblings
    ordered to the dictates of her nose
    I suppose this is all quite common
    but then again,
    isn't everything?

    back at my desk
    looking back on words
    transposed from journal
    to this electronic ether
    back to the moment
    when I realized
    creation
    was not instantaneous
    but ordered over time
    unmeasurable

    I wonder
    how many
    ordinary days
    God endured
    waiting for the garden to emerge

    ~Fred~
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